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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25027657">hot rod, known organicfucker</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/MagicalSpaceDragon/pseuds/MagicalSpaceDragon'>MagicalSpaceDragon</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Transformers (Cartoon Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Body Horror, Body Modification, Don't copy to another site, Masturbation, Pregnancy Kink, Xenophilia, but like he's having a good time</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 07:54:42</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>645</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25027657</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/MagicalSpaceDragon/pseuds/MagicalSpaceDragon</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Living on Earth will <em>do</em> things to you, man.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>62</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>hot rod, known organicfucker</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>hey remember that one time in "only human" where rodimus did definitely fuck the villain of the week's human girlfriend and stay for breakfast? because i started thinking about it and then it got weird</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Okay, so, humans in general—they're small, they're </span>
  <em>
    <span>delicate,</span>
  </em>
  <span> and they don't ever, </span>
  <em>
    <span>ever</span>
  </em>
  <span> let that slow them down. It's definitely not just their size, because his field doesn't hitch the same way when he looks at minis or cassettes. It's the… it's…</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Slaggit, it's because they're </span>
  <em>
    <span>organic.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Human interfacing is squishy and slippery and sticky and </span>
  <em>
    <span>messy,</span>
  </em>
  <span> and Primus help him but it </span>
  <em>
    <span>does</span>
  </em>
  <span> something to him. The fluid transfer </span>
  <em>
    <span>alone,</span>
  </em>
  <span> he's tried fantasizing about a fellow Autobot refilling some, </span>
  <em>
    <span>any</span>
  </em>
  <span> of his everyday fluids from </span>
  <em>
    <span>their own body,</span>
  </em>
  <span> or him doing the same for </span>
  <em>
    <span>them,</span>
  </em>
  <span> and the overload knocks him flat every single time. It's </span>
  <em>
    <span>gross</span>
  </em>
  <span> and he </span>
  <em>
    <span>loves it.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And reproductive protocols—frag, </span>
  <em>
    <span>frag,</span>
  </em>
  <span> he can't even think about reproductive protocols in public! The idea of being </span>
  <em>
    <span>built</span>
  </em>
  <span> to make new life, like a miniature Vector Sigma—and </span>
  <em>
    <span>Primus,</span>
  </em>
  <span> every time he thinks about Vector Sigma in this context it feels like some kind of blasphemy, he's not supposed to—</span>
  <em>
    <span>no one's</span>
  </em>
  <span> supposed to think about Vector Sigma like that! No one's supposed to think about how fragging </span>
  <em>
    <span>hot</span>
  </em>
  <span> it would be to—to </span>
  <em>
    <span>be</span>
  </em>
  <span> like Vector Sigma, to have their frame reformatted to be </span>
  <em>
    <span>part</span>
  </em>
  <span> of it, even, to have all their internals repurposed into machinery that could carefully, lovingly craft new mechs piece by piece, constantly, bringing new life into the universe, for that to be their perfect only function—</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And humans don't </span>
  <em>
    <span>need</span>
  </em>
  <span> to be reformatted for that, they just </span>
  <em>
    <span>do</span>
  </em>
  <span> it. He sees humans in the process of it, pretty often, and he's </span>
  <em>
    <span>a perfect fraggin' gentlemech about it, thank you,</span>
  </em>
  <span> but he always feels so </span>
  <em>
    <span>weird</span>
  </em>
  <span> for hours or days afterward, thinking about what it would be like to have all his internals rearranging themselves to slowly, gradually, fabricate an entire mech from scratch </span>
  <em>
    <span>inside of him.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He stands in front of a mirror and tries to picture his plating bowed out, cables straining at their limit. Everything essential compacted to the point of pain and everything nonessential long converted into the walls of the gestation environment, or the vague instruments he pictures working tirelessly to cut and weld and reshape the foreign frame </span>
  <em>
    <span>inside of his</span>
  </em>
  <span> with patient, unhurried precision.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It takes him—a </span>
  <em>
    <span>while,</span>
  </em>
  <span> to figure out how to transform his internals into a more compact configuration that won't have him crawling to the medibay in shame once he tries to undo it. He could just ask a medic, but—but </span>
  <em>
    <span>everyone</span>
  </em>
  <span> laughs about how nasty and unpleasant organic reproduction is, and if he had to explain himself to someone's face, he thinks he might </span>
  <em>
    <span>die,</span>
  </em>
  <span> and that's if they </span>
  <em>
    <span>don't</span>
  </em>
  <span> decide to gossip about it to the whole army. So he's just really, </span>
  <em>
    <span>really</span>
  </em>
  <span> careful, which he's big enough to admit is kind of a change from his usual, and he figures out how to make a cavity in his abdomen that he can put something in.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It's just a sphere, big and heavy enough to </span>
  <em>
    <span>feel</span>
  </em>
  <span> but not big or heavy enough for it to do any damage if he trips and falls or something. He makes sure the makeshift chamber it's in is </span>
  <em>
    <span>real</span>
  </em>
  <span> snug, too, because </span>
  <em>
    <span>Primus</span>
  </em>
  <span> he does not need to have it rattling around audibly. Again, he'd </span>
  <em>
    <span>die.</span>
  </em>
  <span> And he just… spends a day like that, with a comfortable foreign weight resting low inside him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>That night's session of self-servicing has him nearly burning out most of his pleasure sensors. His frame starts </span>
  <em>
    <span>squeezing</span>
  </em>
  <span> around the weight and Primus, he's just </span>
  <em>
    <span>gone.</span>
  </em>
  <span> And that's </span>
  <em>
    <span>before</span>
  </em>
  <span> he gets the bright idea to rearrange his internals so he can insert and remove the weight </span>
  <em>
    <span>between his legs</span>
  </em>
  <span> like he's </span>
  <em>
    <span>got</span>
  </em>
  <span> reproductive equipment. And </span>
  <em>
    <span>that.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Oh Primus, </span>
  <em>
    <span>that.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>("Since when do </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span> know so much about frame construction?" Springer asks, laughing.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hot Rod sticks his tongue out. "I'm allowed to have hobbies!")</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>comments increase my power</p></blockquote></div></div>
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